


R.E.D.

by mikazure



Series: Dark Wade [2]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Captivity, Cutting, Dark Wade Wilson, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fear, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Pain, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Predicament Bondage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, S&M, Sadistic Wade Wilson, Scared Peter Parker, Spideypool - Freeform, Whump, and years of therapy lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikazure/pseuds/mikazure
Summary: Peter was kneeling in the middle of the room, naked save for his boxers, his eyes cast down on the floor in front of him, his form shaking occasionally by slight full-body tremble. It wasn’t the first time he’d knelt there in Deadpool’s basement – playroom or whatever he liked to call it – but that fact did nothing to ease his fear. The cold terror was gripping his throat at what was going to happen to him tonight.(This could be read as a thing on its own, but lowkey it's a piece set sometime after events in "out of the frying pan, into the fire")
Relationships: Deadpool/Spider-man, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Dark Wade [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922596
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105
Collections: SpideyPool*, i want that spider-twink Obliterated





	R.E.D.

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from meaning red, R.E.D. stands for Really Evil Deadpool lol  
> There's really not enough fics with dark/evil Wade smh
> 
> As always thanks to lovely Spinning_In_Infinity for beta ♥

Peter was kneeling in the middle of the room, naked save for his boxers, his eyes cast down on the floor in front of him, his form shaking occasionally by slight full-body tremble. It wasn’t the first time he’d knelt there in Deadpool’s basement – playroom or whatever he liked to call it – but that fact did nothing to ease his fear. The cold terror was gripping his throat at what was going to happen to him tonight.

He tried to control his breathing, shallow and shaky, on the verge of panic attack, as he heard the heavy footsteps approaching. Peter’s eyes widened and he felt a rush of adrenaline fill his veins, his spidey-sense going off and fight or flight instinct kicking in all at once. It wasn’t like he could run away or fight Deadpool anyway; he was a fly caught in spider’s web and he’d been better off trying to relax and survive whatever was thrown his way.

“Look at you, Spidey.”

Peter inhaled sharply, feeling the presence looming behind him.

“What a good boy you are, waiting patiently for what I’ve got for you.”

Deadpool slowly circled the kneeling boy to stand in front of him. Peter visibly shrank under his stare, not daring to look higher than the merc’s boots.

“Curious what we’ll do today, baby boy?” The man asked playfully, but Peter knew better than to be fooled by his light tone by now. He also knew that this wasn’t really a question, when there was only one right answer.

“Yes. . .”

“Yes, what?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” the boy corrected quickly, a hint of regretful whimper catching in his throat. It was easy to forget and make mistakes when he was scared senseless.

For now, Deadpool didn’t seem to mind too much and continued.

A coil of white rope dropped to the floor, making Peter jump. “For starters.”

Still holding one end of the rope, Deadpool walked back behind Peter and started wrapping the rough cord around his wrists, a bit too tight for comfort. Wade always liked himself some predicament bondage – it looked amazing against his boy’s fair skin and left him deliciously sore, muscles trembling with effort to withstand the uncomfortable position.

Peter couldn’t help but notice the color of rope was off, not the usual red Deadpool loved to use on him. His breath picked up as his panicked mind tried to guess what that could mean.

Behind him, Deadpool smirked at the boy’s realization, making quick work of the rest of the rope and leaving Peter wrapped up tight and spread uncomfortably.

The man took a step back, admiring his work. “Look at me, Petey.”

Only a second of hesitation before the boy did so, head still low, turning his lovely, scared eyes up, like a doe in headlights. Deadpool growled low in his throat and palmed lazily at his crotch.

No matter how many times he saw this sight, it never failed to get him rock hard. Fuck, sometimes he felt like just the luckiest bastard in the whole universe.

On the other end, Peter’s stomach churned with fear. Looking up at Deadpool made his whole body feel like it was set on fire, be it from embarrassment, dread, or the mix of both. It was definitely an uncomfortable feeling and, in moments like these, he regretted invisibility wasn’t his superpower.

Peter tried to stay as still as possible in his position, concrete digging painfully into his scraped knees, the ropes pulling and twisting his limbs in ways even he, with his flexibility, found uncomfortable. Wade would sometimes get lost in his twisted mind looking at Peter and the boy wasn’t eager to pull him out of there and find out what the fantasy was about.

After god knows how long, Deadpool came back to himself and continued. “Where was I? Right, you must be wondering what fun we’re gonna have today~”

In one swift motion, the man pulled out his knife, shiny and sharp like a dream, or nightmare for that matter. Peter paled at the sight, new drops of sweat appearing on his forehead.

“As you must have noticed, I _accidentally_ bought the wrong rope. This one is white, and you know what my favorite color is, right, darling?” He played idly with the blade, taking slow steps in the boy’s direction.

Peter’s lower lip trembled; he was starting to get the idea where this was going. “Red, Sir.”

“Ding, ding, ding, correct!” The hand with the knife extended and the flat of cold blade rested delicately against Peter’s cheek. “And I was hoping you’d help me dye it red, baby boy.”

“O-of course, Sir” Peter croaked begrudgingly. He didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to help. His head swam at the mere thought of it. His lips pulled in a tight line and he tried to focus on anything other than cold metal pressed flat on his cheek, that was about to warm up with his own blood.

Deadpool smiled softly and cupped other side of the boy’s face, the rough leather of his glove contrasting for smooth soft flesh. “That’s my good boy.”

The merc settled behind Peter, pulling his tense body back, to rest against his solid, hot frame. Peter whimpered; he didn’t want this, he felt so small and scared – he always did, with Deadpool. It was once comforting, he used to feel safe and protected by the man, but now he was the biggest threat. Even if— no, maybe, _because_ he knew Deadpool would not kill him and Peter learned long ago that there were things worse than death.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby, I got you.” The mercenary held him back, forcing the boy to relax and lie against his chest as much as possible, while still restricted by the bondage. Just breathe. He couldn’t fight, so it was better to just let it happen.

Deadpool’s soft words always felt like mockery. Even without feeling that sadistic smile against his neck, Peter knew it was there, along with hungry eyes, eating up his pain and fear with delight.

The knife rose to the boy’s chest and slowly Deadpool mapped the skinny yet muscular body underneath the ropes, as if contemplating where to cut first. Peter’s skin was unmarked and seamless, but not because he was untouched, no. Just that his healing ability, paired up with merc’s skill to not leave scars behind, made for a beautiful, good-as-new canvas every time. Part of Peter wished this wasn’t the case, maybe that way Deadpool would lose interest in him sooner, if that were at all possible.

The first cut took Peter by surprise, his body struggling to get away, or at least trying to, because the man behind him expected nothing less and held him, unrelenting.

“Easy now, easy, baby boy. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Wade said firmly right into boy’s ear. Peter’s breath was heavy and his body strained, but stilled, save for the unending quivers.

The cut stung right under Peter’s collarbone, bleeding more than it should, from his tussle. Crimson red already starting to paint the rope there.

Next the blade dug above the boy’s hip, this time ripping a scream from him. He felt the nausea rising in his throat. Along with the ropes, his pants also started to soak red and, as if reading his mind, Deadpool offered: “Let’s get these out of the way,” before cutting the fabric and ripping it off Peter’s body in one motion. The boy wondered why he was allowed to keep them on for so long anyway – maybe some poor attempt at courtesy from his tormentor.

Another cut under his navel. Peter’s head lolled back on Wade’s shoulder, focusing on the light above them. He couldn’t look down; he was pretty sure he’d faint if he did and Deadpool didn’t like him unconscious in the middle of things. The boy tried to breathe slowly in and out, to not think of the slow stream of hot blood pooling under him.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good for me.” The praise made nothing to ease Peter’s pain, in fact it made him feel even more sick.

“Just remember not to move, I don’t want to hurt you, precious. Not more than I planned to, that is.” Deadpool chuckled darkly in boy’s ear.

The knife slid down further to Peter’s thighs. Tickling his sensitive skin there and making him press back into Wade.

“I know, you’re so sensitive~” A pleased hum vibrated against Peter’s back.

A swift cut at the inside of his thigh made Peter cry out anew, so did the next on the opposite side and next and next, right leg, left leg, right, left, right, left. Peter screwed his eyes shut and took it, at this point not caring what sounds he was making and barely conscious throughout it all.

His thighs felt hot and wet and hurt so badly. Peter realized he was crying, his chest heaving, wracked with panicked, pained hiccups as he tried to breathe properly.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re fine, you’re fine.” Deadpool whispered and kissed the back of his neck. Peter could only whine weakly.

Deadpool’s hand, the one without the knife, held the boy’s jaw and shook it slightly. “You still with me, baby boy?”

Thankfully, a groan of acknowledgment was enough and the merc continued. “Look down.”

Peter was about to argue that it wasn’t a good idea, but the hand already turned his face downwards to the bloody mess between his legs. He swallowed hard; there was so much blood, his head started spinning. True to his plan, Deadpool tinged the rope red, not a white spot left as it dripped crimson.

Besides the obvious shock at how the hell he had not fainted from such excessive blood loss, there was one more surprise standing upright between his tortured legs.

“W-wha— I—” Peter was hard. A blush crept its way on his cheeks. This was a whole new level of fucked up.

“Interesting, huh? Nothing to worry about, though. Pain is something you've become familiar with, being Spider-Man. Looks like you also learned to enjoy it.” As if this was the only reason and not Deadpool’s fault for torturing him the past few months.

“Want me to take care of it?” Peter shook his head no, but the man chuckled and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Beg me.”

Peter bit his lip, more tears falling from his eyes. He didn’t want this, didn’t know why his body suddenly reacted like this. But again, with Deadpool he never had the choice, so he could just as well get it over with.

“P-Please, please. . . Wade.” While most of the time Deadpool told Peter to call him “Sir”, he loved hearing his name from the boy in more intimate situations, and sometimes the boy used it to his advantage.

“Oh, you little tease.” Deadpool growled behind him, slapping his hand on Peter’s hurt thigh and coating it in blood, before wrapping around boy’s member.

A broken sob escaped Peter and he hated the way his hips stuttered into the hot rough hand covered in his own blood. He leaned back, trying to finish quickly and not wanting to process how morbid the situation was right now. The pain was a constant thrum in the background, setting fire to his wounds with each spasm of his muscles. But Peter was getting close, eyes closed and panting weakly as Deadpool brought him closer and closer to release.

He came a few seconds later with a cry, hoarse in his sore throat. His body arched, making his muscles ache and his orgasm all the more intense. With that, Peter’s brain promptly shut off, and the sweet peaceful darkness enveloped his senses.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, don't forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed <3


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